Proper Nomenclature
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: Historical? Sweden wants to make this Christmas with Finland a good one - but Finland's only question is "They followed me home; can I keep them?".


Berwald had been in the backyard, chopping wood, when a small figure came careening through the snow, sending the powdery drifts flying as he skidded through the yard, sliding around the corner of the house and almost running into Berwald in his hurry. With a half-strangled gasp of "Sorry!" the bundle of too-big coats and flushed cheeks was out of sight again, fresh whiteness exploding in his wake, turning another corner.

"…T'no…?" Berwald asked belatedly, staring after the boy. Though they had been living together for a few years, now, he did not pretend that he understood the Finn any more than he ever had. Some things were definitely mysteries… a theory almost immediately proven as Tino scrambled into view again, this time with a handful of carrots from the root cellar. A small white fluffball of a dog was yipping at his heels, and Tino laughed happily, calling to the puppy.

"Hurry up, Bloody Flower-Egg, or I'll leave you behind!" And then he was gone, slipping into the forest that surrounded their little home.

Berwald continued to stare. Yes, there were some things that just confused him. Such as his sense of proper nomenclature. That was definitely… unique.

The large young man waited a few moments longer, to make sure that Tino would not return as abruptly as he had left, then carefully set down his axe. He slipped away, towards the small work shed that sulked unobtrusively in one corner of the fenced yard. If he had some time alone, perhaps he could finish the sled…

Berwald shouldered open the door, assaulted by the earthy smells of pine and wood shavings and paint. He sighed in appreciation, not minding the cold of the shed or the grainy light from the single, shuttered window carved into one wall. He unlatched the shutters, allowing the cold morning sun to flood in an illuminate the worktable.

It was a half finished wooden sled, rough and unsanded but sturdily built. The contraption was large enough to hold Tino, perhaps, though Berwald, even though he was young yet, had grown much too tall to fit inside it comfortably. Still, Berwald would not be the one using it. He allowed himself a tiny, content smile as he fished out sanding tools.

Though they had been living together for a few decades, Berwald knew that there were things about their condition that made Tino feel uncomfortable; things that he tried to change as best he could. The boy was terrified of sleeping alone, but he seemed even more tense on that single night, so long ago, when they had slept together under the stars. Berwald had compromised the issue, painstakingly hewing a bed that would be large enough for the two to sleep together, with a comfortable stretch between them. Knowing Tino was lonely on when Berwald was forced to leave on campaigns to defend his Oresund lands against that incorrigible Dane, the young man had found him a dog to keep him company.

But the biggest point of unspoken contention was Christianity. Berwald knew that the Finn's pagan roots were important to him, though it had long fallen into a cultural attachment, rather than a moral one. With great hesitancy, the boy had slowly followed his lead in prayer and ritual, taking the new customs in with wide violet eyes and a nervous expression.

Christmas could sometimes be awkward.

Berwald was grateful, for he knew that Tino tried, but he could tell that the boy's heart was not in it, not yet. Still, he hoped that perhaps their quiet celebration in a few days' time could be lightened by a gift. He had seen Tino ricocheting down the vast drifts and hills of ice around their house, seated on a cooking pan and laughing riotously. Maybe a proper sled could bring that smile back to his eyes, and the gleeful spirit back to the season. At least, Berwald hoped so.

He sat down at the work bench, beginning the long work of sanding, delicately defining whorling designs in the sled's sides and using a drill to hollow out places for him to eventually insert runners. The careful monotony of the tasks let him lose sense of time, caught up in act, the texture of wood beneath his fingertips, the harsh breath that contained wood shavings with every inhale. He was so distracted that he almost did not notice the voice calling him from across the yard.

"Berwald! Berwald, come here, look at this! They followed me!"

Abruptly standing and slamming the shutters tightly, Berwald slipped out of the work shed, curiously peeking at the younger boy, who was emerging from the forest, trailed by several smaller figures. He allowed a single manifestation of his confusion as he raised an eyebrow. Well, that had been unexpected.

"Look Berwald! Its reindeer!"

Tino smiled blissfully at his bewildered friend, happily petting the small, frolicking animals as he waited for the proper enthusiastic response.

"Y'p… 't's reindeer…" Berwald mumbled lamely.

Tino deemed this appropriately excited, for Berwald, and happily fed one of the smallest deer from his pocket. So _that_ was what the carrots were for. "Umm…" he mumbled. The older boy was looking positively frightening in his confusion, and Tino wondered if he was taking his life in his hands asking this. "… since they followed me and they seemed to like me and I really like them can I maybe… is it okay if I keep them?"

Berwald just stared.

Tino flushed in embarrassment, assuming that silence meant denial. "Er nevermind, I shouldn't have asked; I know we don't really have space or food or anything, but I think they mostly graze for themselves and I was just hoping maybe I could keep them because they don't normally live in forests and so maybe they were lost but I understand –"

"Y'can keep 'em," Berwald murmured. He was unsure why he said that. They didn't have space, or resources, or time… but the way Tino was smiling… "J'st take care of 'em."

Tino's violet eyes widened in surprise, then immediately crinkled into a grateful smile. "Thank you!" He couldn't stop himself from flinging Berwald into a hug, then immediately pulled back in embarrassment, shuffling his feet and smiling through his blush, the omnipresent fear in his eyes tempered by joy and gratitude and maybe a measure of hard-won trust. "Thanks."

"Y'should name 'em," Berwald offered.

"Oh!" Tino brightened up immediately. "I already have names! I will call this on Dasher, and the other one Dancer, because they're twins and they're always prancing around – oh so this one can be Prancer! …."

Berwald just shook his head. No, naming sensibilities were not particularly Tino's strong suit.

"… and the littlest one can be Rudolph! Because he is adorable!" said Tino decisively. Berwald just nodded along, wondering if he could rig up some harnesses for Tino's sled…


End file.
